Tuesday, December 29, 2015

A Naughty New Year...Brazen Style with Samanthe Beck and Giveaway

Wine lover, sleep fanatic, and USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy contemporary romance novels, Samanthe Becklives in Malibu, California, with her long-suffering but extremely adorable husband and their turbo-son, Hud. Throw in a furry ninja named Kitty and Bebe the trash talking Chihuahua and you get the whole, chaotic picture.

When not clinging to sanity by her fingernails or dreaming up fun, fan-your-cheeks sexy ways to get her characters to happily-ever-afters, she searches for the perfect cabernet to pair with Ambien.

Massive thanks to Dani for having me here at Ramblings from this Chick to be a part of her Naughty New Year…Brazen style! The naughty New Year scene I’m serving up is from “Hard Compromise,” which is the forthcoming book 2 from the Compromise Me series. We meet Laurie in book 1, Compromising Her Position, and the start of this scene (the New Year’s Eve phone conversation with Chelsea), actually appears in that story. Here’s what you didn’t get to see...enjoy!

“Yes, and yes.” Not in uniform, no, but otherwise looking as authoritative, and—damn her perverse hormones—hot as ever in a charcoal V-neck that did all kinds of justice to his shoulders and chest, and dark pants that did justice to everything else. The porch light found the sun-streaked strands in his thick brown hair and turned them copper.

“What do you think he wants?”

“No clue.”

Perverse or not, no red-blooded woman could deny Booker was an eyeful, but she ought to be used to it. She’d been looking her fill for a while. In the years since rookie Booker had first hauled her under-aged ass home from Nido Beach, he’d worked his way up the ladder to Sheriff, and she’d outgrown her juvenile rebellions. Mostly. She owned a business, paid taxes, and, aside from a few speeding tickets, abided by the laws like any upstanding member of society. Didn’t matter. Booker’s assessing stare always regressed her to teenaged troublemaker at the same time it sent her grown-up sex-drive surging. She was no longer a wayward delinquent, but only a blind woman would miss the fact that he saw a shadow of that girl when he looked at her. She wasn’t blind. Or naive. He also saw a grown woman, and he wanted her. She recognized the heat coming off him whenever they got within spitting distance of each other, but he never made a move. She’d made one, clumsily, on his birthday a few years ago, and he’d shot her down cold. She refused to make a fool of herself again.

“Think he got a noise complaint?” Chelsea asked.

All her neighbors were here, so it seemed unlikely, but she raised her chin and channeled the defiance she defaulted to whenever Booker appeared. “So what if he did? It’s New Year’s Eve, for God’s sake.” While she watched, those intense eyes scanned the room. For her.

Someone killed the music, and people started cheering.

Ten…The walls of her apartment shook as revelers broke into the countdown. “Ten lousy seconds and the party will be over anyway. What’s the point of barging in now, except to be a hard-ass?”

Nine... “Maybe he wants to wish you Happy New Year?”

Eight…“Yeah, right. From a jail cell.”

Seven…Booker’s attention locked on her. Her stomach took a free-fall, as usual.

Six…“Uh-oh. He spotted me.” His gaze turned oddly…purposeful. No other word fit the lowered brows and tractor beam stare. The man was clearly on a mission, and the determination in his expression raised the tiny hairs on her arm. Whatever he wanted from her, it had nothing to do with a noise complaint.

Five… “Don’t assume the worst.”

Four… She downed her champagne, and set the glass on an end table while he shouldered his way through her small, packed living room. Her rapid pulse rushed the bubbles straight to her head.

Three…“I better go.”

Two…“Happy New Year. Call me tomorrow, okay?”

One…“I may only get one phone call. Happy New Years, Chels.”

Booker took her phone, hit disconnect and slipped it into his pocket at the same time confetti went flying and the room erupted into shouts of “Happy New Year!”

“Hey, give me my pho—”

His mouth crashed down on hers. Strong fingers sank into her hair, and…holy hell. However many years she’d had to envision this moment, one thing became startlingly apparent. She’d failed to adequately prepare for it. Competing waves of alarm and excitement rolled through her at the realization.

Then again, how could she have prepared for Booker’s kiss? How could she prepare for this much intensity, and all this hunger?

His mouth moved on hers, parting her lips wider, then wider still, and just when she’d gotten a grip on his shoulders and started to make a move of her own, he swept in with long, deep strokes she couldn’t resist. Didn’t want to resist. And he was so sure she wouldn’t he didn’t even hurry, simply kept up the slow, commanding slide of his tongue. She didn’t consider herself the kind of woman who obeyed commands, but he was dragging them somewhere she desperately wanted to go. A place she’d fantasized about going for too long. Though it wasn’t smart, or particularly sane of her, she took two fistfuls of his very nice, very expensive sweater, and held on.

From somewhere nearby, a voice yelled, “Drinks are on me at Delaney’s.” In a vague recess of her mind, she registered people leaving, calling their thanks as they squeezed past, but she didn’t respond. More urgent priorities demanded her attention. Priorities like the scrape of his whisker-roughened jaw against her skin, and the whisper soft cashmere covering hard muscles. Her hands found a route under his clothes and raced along his warm, smooth, withstand-anything back.

“Aaand we’re out of here. Good night you two. Happy New Year.” The door closed, and she sensed without looking they had the apartment to themselves. Apparently he sensed it too, because the next thing she knew, he’d backed her up against the hallway wall. He pulled his mouth away from hers and leveled a serious look at her. “Ground rules.”

“Uh-uh.” Rules would require negotiation, and negotiation implied they had more at stake here than rampant lust. In other words, negotiation would ruin this. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, came up on her toes, and bit his upper lip. He groaned, and slammed his hips into hers, pinning her to the wall. The position gave her a forceful preview of what he had in store for her. Her body responded with a rush of anticipation guaranteed to send her silk shorts to the dry cleaners along with her champagne splashed top. Against the lip she’d just abused, she murmured, “No rules. Just this. Fast, hard, and so filthy dirty it leaves a stain on your soul.”

***

“Hard Compromise” releases next year, so get ready to let Laurie & Booker compromise you soon! In the meantime, I plan to compromise one lucky winner with an e-copy of “Compromising Her Position,” (this giveaway is open anywhere I can successfully gift online through Amazon or Barnes & Noble). Just hit the Rafflecopter below to enter. Good luck & Happy New Year!

He's not who she expected, but he's exactly the man she needs…

When Chelsea Wayne drags Santa into a supply closet for a little office party nookie, she assumes the man in the suit is her on-again/off-again coworker boyfriend. Instead, it's Rafe St. Sebastian, a man known for his hard-driving ways in business as well as the bedroom--and, kill her now, the brand spanking new owner of Las Ventanas--who grants her naughtiest Christmas wishes.

So much for her reputation, not to mention her career.

Rafe needs to close three acquisitions to prove to his father he's ready to take the helm of St. Sebastian Enterprises. A hot interlude in a supply closet after deal number two seems like the perfect illicit Christmas bonus. Unfortunately, when that "bonus" becomes the key to the final deal, he finds himself back in bed--so to speak--with Chelsea, and after their steamy tryst, he's not interested in keeping things professional.